


Isolation

by Dazzledfirestar



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dazzledfirestar/pseuds/Dazzledfirestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a freak lab accident, SHIELD HQ is put on quarantine and it's agents are left to deal with the unusual side effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [my porn table](http://dazzledfirestar.livejournal.com/151061.html) for [Avengers tables](http://avengers-tables.livejournal.com/) on LJ.

He knew what the incident reports would say. Lab accident. Quarantine. Unexpected symptoms. He sighed and rolled his shoulders, loosening his tie again. He knew there were all sorts of ways to get through this quarantine. He knew that no one in their right mind would judge anyone stuck in the building at the moment for anything… unbecoming. But as word had spread, Phil Coulson had resolutely locked his office door and sat behind his desk willing the problem—and the hard on it had brought on—away.

 

It wasn’t working. Jacking off hadn’t worked either. At least not in the long run. But the thought of leaving his office and finding another warm body—one that would no doubt belong to someone he had to work with when this all wore off—was less than appealing. Not that there weren’t people in the building he wouldn’t have happily had sex with in less frantic situations but… not like this.

 

The banging on his door took him by surprise. “Coulson, open the door!” Of all the voices he expected to follow the banging, Clint Barton’s was not one he would have put near the top of the list. “They said it’s worse if you don’t—“

 

“I heard the announcement!”

 

“Then stop sulking and whacking off and open the fucking door!”

 

Phil stared at the door for a moment before every dirty thought he could possibly have about the man on the other side flooded his brain. His dick twitched painfully and he bit back a moan before wrapping his hand around himself again. “Go. Away.”

 

“What do you want, Phil?” Barton’s voice was lower that time, more… something. He didn’t want to put a word to it. It was just the drugs some dumber than normal lab tech let slip. “Because right now, I want to kick down this door and suck you off until you scream my name.”

 

He was sure Clint--no, Hawkeye. Barton. Not Clint--but he was sure the other man had heard him moan despite the door between them. “No.”

 

“I want you to bend me over your desk and fuck me raw.”

 

“Barton, stop—“

 

“I want you to make me come so hard, I black out. And I’ve wanted it for a long fuckin’ time, Phil, so open the fucking door!”

 

He was on his feet before he had time to consider why he was on his feet. His hand shook as he turned the knob on the door and pulled it open slowly. Barton pushed the door open and it slammed into the wall. When it bounced back, he was far enough in to kick it shut again before taking hold of Phil’s face and pressing a demanding kiss to his lips.

 

He spun them around and backed Barton into the room until he hit the desk with a soft grunt. “It’s just the drugs.” Phil whispered against his lips.

 

“Not for me…”

 

“What?”

 

“Later!” Barton nipped at his bottom lip. “You need to get off. I know you do…” he cupped Phil through his slacks and he moaned. Loudly. “God, that’s hot.”

 

Phil laughed. It was a nervous sound, higher pitched than his normal laugh would have been. “Not a word I hear a lot…”

 

“You should.” Clint bit gently at his ear before dropping to his knees and pulling at the buckle of Phil’s belt.

 

“Wait…” Phil pulled Clint back onto his feet and kissed him again, deeper, less desperate. “I’ve got a better idea…” He motioned for Clint to hop up onto the desk. The archer gave him a look but complied.  Phil claimed his lips again before both of their hands reached for each other’s pants. When he had Clint out of his ridiculously tight pants—he hadn’t looked before, he told himself again. Nope. Never looked.—he stroked him slowly, running his thumb over the head of his cock and listening as he moaned.

 

“Fuck… I could have gotten a hand job from anybody, Phi—God, damn!” Clint’s head lolled back as Phil squeezed him at the base of his cock.

 

He leaned in. “This isn’t a hand job, smart ass.” He took one of Clint’s hands and laced their fingers together before stepping into him and bringing their cocks together. Phil groaned, thrusting unconsciously against the friction, wanting more. He wrapped their hands around them and started stroking. “This is as close as I can get to fucking you,” he groaned again, thrusting against their hands and Clint’s cock, “without hurting you.”

 

Phil leaned in, claiming Clint’s lips and stopping any more smart-ass comments. Things seemed to blur with no words between them. There were just choked out groans and the delicious friction and okay, yes. Phil was willing to admit that maybe the labs had a point and this was working far better than jacking off in his office had.

 

Clint pressed open mouth kisses to Phil’s neck and his hips jerked. “I’m taking that as a good sign.” His voice was breathy and cracking a little. “Oh God…” Clint’s head fell forward; his forehead resting against Phil’s and for some reason that felt more intimate than having their hands locked together around their dicks. “I’m so close…” Phil kissed him again, hard and deep, in an effort to bite back his own moans. Clint’s head fell back again and he groaned; his thrusts growing more and more erratic until finally he froze, head thrown back, mouth open, lips kiss swollen, flushed and wanton as he came. “Fuck…” he dragged the word out.

 

Clint smiled a second later, slipping off the desk and onto his knees. Phil didn’t have time to protest before Clint’s tongue was running along the underside of his still painfully hard cock. Phil let himself go, just a little. Moaning and leaning over Clint, white knuckled on the desk, trying to get more of that warm wet feeling around his cock. A string of filthy nonsense slipped out of his mouth as he thrust forward, half expecting Clint to pull back and tell him to fucking stop it. But he didn’t. Clint gripped his hips tighter, swallowed around him and _moaned_.

 

The moan did it. The tingle that crept up his spine through his dick sent him groaning and trembling over the edge as he came down Clint’s throat. The minute bit of his brain that was still functioning on a logical level noted the soft sucking and the swirl of Clint’s tongue before Phil sunk down onto the floor next to him.

 

Clint pulled Phil closer and kissed him slowly, almost lazily before a soft laugh made it past his lips. “So just…” he looked at Phil’s watch, “seventeen more hours.”

 

“Think we’ll make it?”

 

“Maybe.” Clint smirked and kissed him again. The both groaned as the toxin in the air started to take effect again. “If we don’t, it’s a hell of a way to go.”


End file.
